


"Can you DD?"

by BullySquadess



Series: Bullysquadess' 500 Follower Giveaway Prompts [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: "nobody puts buggy in a corner", //slam dunks self in garbage, Again, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Makeouts, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullySquadess/pseuds/BullySquadess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as one of three prompts for my 500 follower fic giveaway on tumblr.<br/>"Despite the fact he’d only met his dance partner a scant half-hour earlier, Adrien felt inexplicably drawn to her, to the way she moved and coaxed. That dark hair, those challenging blue eyes — everything about the girl just dug at him, and as they continued to grind into each other, Adrien couldn’t fight down the strong sensation of familiarity... or the feeling they had been weaving alongside each other for years rather than just minutes."<br/>IT'S A CLUBBING THING.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



> So this one goes out to the brilliant mind behind the fic "Summer in the City".  
> It was supposed to be a one-shot but surprise surprise, im the most long-winded person ever so there will probably be like three chapters.  
> Enjoy Sinners.

“Can you DD?”

Marinette perked her head up with a soft hum, the noise morphing into more of a hiss as her neck popped at the motion. In all her years of being a seamstress, the girl had yet to get it through her thick skull that hunching over a slip of fabric for hours on end without rest wasn’t exactly great for her posture.

 _‘I’m the very picture of a responsible adult,’_  she thought absently, rubbing behind her head as Alya quirked an eyebrow in the doorway.

“How long have you been working on that thing?”

“What time is it?”

“The fact you even have to ask me that tells me you’ve been at it too long,” Alya chided, stalking over to settle atop Marinette’s scrap-strewn bedspread. In keeping with the university student stereotype, her mattress was laid straight on the floor with only a box spring to support it. One bad thing about growing up with a lofted bed was that Marinette did not, in fact, own a bed frame, meaning she would be (literally) grounded for a while until she was able to buy one.

“Fashion major problems, I guess,” the dark hair girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before standing to tidy up her area.

They had only moved into their shared apartment a scant three weeks earlier, but Marinette’s room was remarkably put-together (compared to the mess of boxes still stacked in Alya’s bedroom). In her typical fastidious fashion, Marinette had completely overhauled her tiny space within the first few days, fitting as many of her personal belongs as she could into her new room and sending what didn’t fit back to the now-empty room at the top of her parents’ bakery. The walls were plastered with pictures and plaques, shelves stuffed with books and trinkets, each a little memory accumulated over her 20 years of living.

And yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly the Ritz, their snug two-bedroom situated south of downtown. The pipes rattled, the floors squeaked, and sometimes the balcony door stuck, but it was home. And the girls couldn’t be happier with the exhilarating (if sometimes stressful) sense of freedom gained from living away from their parents for the first time.

“You’re working too hard,” Alya said, watching her friend square away the mess, “and you really need a break. Come out with us, Mariiii…”

“Where are you guys headed, and how long do you plan on staying out?” Marinette grilled, plopping down on the comforter once she was satisfied with her progress.

“Well, _mom_ ,” Alya began with a roll of her eyes, “there’s a new club that just opened in the fourth and they’re having a masquerade tonight. I’ve heard it's really trendy and they’ve got killer music and please just say you’ll _goooooo…_ ”  

“Well, I don’t—”

“Plus cover is free for ladies.”

Marinette’s frantic student mind latched on to the word "free" and ran with it.

“I’m in,” she said brightly, echoing Alya’s smile as the girl leapt up with a hoot.

“Perfect!” the redhead announced, swinging her way out of the bedroom and letting her voice carry down the hall. “The girls will be here in five minutes, so put on your heels, find a mask, and get your pretty little self out here ASAP!”

Marinette gave a vaguely affirmative hum, trying and failing to smother an excited smile as she closed the door to change. She padded to her closet, shifting though the racks while mentally keying herself up for the night out. It had been quite a while since she had taken some time off for fun, and the idea of a long-overdue trip to the club was an attractive one.

Though she didn't look the type, Marinette had a deep-seated adoration of the dancing scene. Something about the dim lights and the thrumming music seemed to unwind her at the seams, lending her a high much more satisfying than any drink could (plus no one had ever gotten a hangover from dancing, to the best of her knowledge). Sure, she’d been a bit awkward during her first club-going experience, but with two years under her belt the young woman now considered herself a seasoned pro.

“What are you going to wear?” Tikki questioned, zipping out from her hiding spot to settle atop her chosen’s shoulder.

“Not sure,” Marinette answered, letting her hands ghost through her wardrobe in consideration. The blue dress was always a hit, but she’d left her matching pumps back at the bakery, so that ensemble was struck off the list.

 _‘Maybe my high-waisted shorts and a crop top?’_  the girl pondered, liking the idea of having pockets at her disposal. Tikki interrupted her musing with a tittered reminder.

“Well, whatever you choose, make sure you find a mask to match.”

 _‘Shoot,’_  Marinette thought, gnawing on her lip in concentration. “A mask. Right.”

 She stewed for a  second, desperately trying to remember if she even _owned_  a mask… besides the one that magically melded to her skin along with the rest of her Ladybug suit, that is. _‘And I obviously can't show up to the club dressed as a super he—‘_

An idea struck.

Marinette left her closet and made a beeline towards the only remaining pile of memorabilia that still need sorting, rifling through it with purpose. True, she couldn’t go out as Ladybug…

…but there was nothing stopping her from donning the black plastic mask and matching cat ears she fished from her hoard.

Marinette could still recall the day a smirking Chat Noir had presented her with the novelty dress-up set. She’d rolled her eyes at the time, ignoring the way he'd howled at his own corny April Fools shenanigans, but hell if the gag gift wasn’t coming in handy now. She tore at the package, ignoring the hilariously small suit (not only had her partner gotten her a cheap costume, he'd gotten her a _child’s_ costume) as she extracted her prizes from their shrink wrapped prison.

_‘Perfect!’_

Having her accessories in order greatly sped up the process of her outfit selection, and when Marinette turned in front of her mirror a few minutes later, the room was filled with Tikki’s bell-like giggling.

“If Chat Noir saw you looking like that—“

“Oh, I know,” Marinette assured her kwami, giving her reflection the once over. “I would never hear the end of it.”

Luckily, there was no chance of Chat _ever_  seeing her in this kind of kind of getup — a blessing considering that her incorrigible companion would absolutely boil over with laughter if he were to catch sight of her current appearance.

With cat ears nestled forward from her high bun and pointed mask affixed across the bride of her nose, Marinette had rounded out her feline look with a form-fitted romper in a similar black, paired with sheer charcoal pantyhose. The garment was stylish and functional, with pockets (perfectly sized for a kwami hideout) on either side, and short ruffled leg holes that flared at the bottom, giving the illusion of a dress while maintaining the comfort of pants. It nipped in at the waist, flowing up into a boat neckline that was sliced with a triangle of mesh that added just a touch of flirtatiousness to her outfit (as well as a peek at her push-up-aided cleavage).

Foreseeing a long night ahead of her, Marinette had passed up stilettos in favor of a lower heel, donning two-inch wedges in an electric lime green that graciously complemented her monochromatic color scheme. She admired the way they drew her look together as she twirled in front of her mirror. Chat’s mask covered half her face and she wasn’t exactly a fan of lipstick, so there wasn’t much to be done in terms of makeup. Marinette dotted some concealer and went in with a swipe of mascara nonetheless, finally approving her look with a sultry nod at her reflection.

One thing was for certain… she did _not_  let out a playful feline growl, regardless of what Tikki would say on the matter.

“Helloooo kitty,” Alya hooted, nudging her newly arrived group of friends as Marinette joined them in the living room. Empty shot glasses were lined up on the counter, and their presence combined with the happy flushes scattered across the girls’ cheeks indicated that their pre-gaming had already begun in earnest.

“That’s Chat Noir to you!” Marinette said in a jovial tease, posturing like her companion would as her similarly masked friends erupted into tipsy cheers. “Designated driver Chat Noir, to be exact. So, who’s ready to roll out?”

She found no objections from her bubbly bunch.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon reaching the club, Marinette and her friends wasted no time in immediately joining the party. Following a quick group migration to the bathroom as well as a strict review of their girl code rules (a safe time is a fun time), the college students had happily insinuated themselves into a thriving corner of the dance floor.

Fitting with Alya’s description, the venue was definitely “trendy”. The club itself was situated in an old brick two-story, renovated to be a single high ceilinged space with light-strung industrial beams running across the upper eaves. Much to Marinette’s delight, her heels didn’t stick to the floor and she rejoiced that she wouldn’t have to clean her shoes the next day.

(Most clubs that had been around for more than a few months came coated in a solid millimetre of beer, and to be in such a filth-free environment was practically a luxury.)

Marinette’s heart rate had begun to climb the second she’d heard the music working its way through the venue door, but that pulse was nothing compared to rhythm that her chest (as well as various other parts of her body) now vibrated with amidst the center of the action. A hypnotic, upbeat tune thrummed out from the speakers above her, and she let its steady beat sink into her limbs and guide her gyrations as she swiveled around amongst her peers.

Alya wormed her way over, winking from under her Venetian style mask as the besties linked arms and danced with identical laughs of excitement.

“Glad you came out?” Marinette wouldn’t have been able to hear the question if her friend hadn't been a scant two inches away, but one thing (good or bad) about clubbing was that there was never much elbow room to get in the way of conversation.

“I am,” she shouted back, rolling alongside Alya as the beat melded into a new tempo. “I needed this.”

“What you need is to find a nice partner to grind it out with!” her redheaded enabler drawled over the music. Marinette laughed, twirling around just once before her eyes settled on her friend’s devilish face.

“Isn’t that what I keep you around for?”

“Sorry, girly,” Alya replied with a shake of her head. “As much as I’d love to sweep you off your feet, I’m set on bagging me a tall one tonight.”

“I should have worn higher heels,” Marinette said with a fake sigh, keeping her face comically serious for just a moment before the two of them burst out laughing. Alya hooked an arm around her cat-eared companion, drawing the both of them back into their circle of friends as the club continued to move around them.

The atmosphere was right, the music choices were inspired, and everything about the night lulled Marinette into an easy state where inhibitions fell away. _‘Maybe I will find myself a dance partner,’_  she thought with a gleam, feeling the intoxicating state of excitement around her whisper endless fun ideas into her waiting ear.

_‘Besides, what’s a Chat Noir without a matching Ladybug…?’_

After a mere fifteen minutes of clustered dancing, Marinette’s group of ladies had already begun to draw more than a fair amount of attention from the other club-goers. This wasn’t surprising (they made quite the attractive bunch), but the admiring glances thrown their way were still appreciated as the girls shook and shimmied in their gleeful circle of movement. The aura of fun generated by Marinette and her crew drew men and women alike, attracting dancers like moths to a flame as more people attempted to insinuate themselves within their niche.

One by one, people began to pair off.

Sativa was nabbed first, luring a sizeable crowd with her pretty face and sensuous body before she finally took her pick of admirers. The lucky winner flashed a smile, instantly falling in besides the blonde girl as she wiggled around the dance floor.

Alya was a close second, throwing a peek over each shoulder to find two equally hopeful candidates before sandwiching herself between them both with a wild laugh of abandon.

And after taking another song to dance with the remainder of her group, Marinette slyly began to dangle herself out there as well.

Pulling from her playbook, Marinette sampled some of her best moves, making it increasingly obvious she was looking for a partner. The dark-haired girl scooted out from the circle just a smidgen, positioning herself so her back would be facing the majority of the crowd before letting her hips twirl around in a way that could only be described as inviting.

_‘Come and get it…’_

It wasn't long before someone took the bait. Marinette smiled as she sensed a presence creep up behind her, one hand planting itself on her hip as she undulated beneath it. While in most situations having an unknown person try to get in her personal space would be grounds for an ass-kicking, clubbing wasn’t most situations — so she allowed the intrusion, rolling alongside her partner until the music wound down again.

Once that dance had ended, Marinette set her trap again — and again, never straying too far from her dispersing crew and always ensuring she kept at least one of her friends within eyesight while she wove her way through the crowd. The next few songs went off without a hitch, the music bumping and bubbly in a way that charged up the night as she grooved her way through each number.

She got lost in the sounds and the motions.

She got lost in the feeling of her hips swaying, their rhythmic swing more often than not accompanied by a matching moving pair as she led nameless, faceless partners in dances that ranged anywhere from silly to sultry (depending on the song).

She got lost in the high of the night, in the exhilaration of the chase, and then—

Well, then Marinette just got lost, period.

There was a lull in the music as the DJ stepped out of the sound booth to hand the turntables over to his follow-up act, a repetitive beat running over the speakers to create suspension between sets. Pulled from her high at the interruption, Marinette slowed and swivelled to wave at her retreating partner (a somewhat short fellow whom she had danced with purely because his bunny-earned mask was so endearingly cute) before realizing she had strayed from her group’s original position near the back corner of the building.

Marinette let her eyes trace the crowd around her, chest rising and falling with the exertion from a near-solid hour of dancing as she searched for a familiar face among the club goers. Slipping through the bodies surrounding her, she locked eyes with one of her group members a few feet over and sent the girl a nod of acknowledgement.

But just as she was about to rejoin her squad for a little group dance, Marinette’s gaze snagged on a visage that was familiar for an entirely different reason, one that inspired her lip to quirk up in amusement and her head to churn with ideas.

_‘Found one…’_

Marinette turned back to her friend with a jerky wave, hoping to properly convey her intentions as she inclined her head in the direction of her next vict— _*ahem*_ — potential partner.

Thankfully her message seemed to get across, earning the girl a hearty thumbs up that spurred her towards her goal. The new DJ threw on a set-opening banger, the building tempo working its way into Marinette’s chest to mingle with her rising heartbeat and give purpose to her weaving limbs.

With club-granted confidence, the cat stalked her way across the dance floor, electric heels clicking and glittering eyes intent on their prize...

…said prize being the very handsome blonde sporting a _very_ familiar polka-dotted mask.

 

* * *

 

Clubbing had seemed like a perfectly acceptable idea when Nino first brought it up (when the light of day and the thrill of the unknown had painted the concept in an exciting light). But now that Adrien Agreste found himself alone and floundering in the crowd, he couldn’t help but wish he’d elected to hide out in the sound booth for the remainder of the evening.

Don’t get him wrong, the first part of the night had been a blast! The two of them had made it to the club fairly early: Nino chattering in anticipation of his first run as a DJ at a major venue, and Adrien dutifully cheering him on as they planted themselves at the bar to soak in the growing population of the place.

“Here’s the crash course,” Nino had told him, leaning an arm on the counter with a look of wry experience. “Clubbing 101, if you will. First off, keep moving. Nobody likes a stagnant body.”

Adrien had taken a mental note, nodding like a prudent student.

“Second, don’t be sloppy. You can dance or you can get drunk, but you shouldn’t do both.”

 _That_  wouldn’t be a problem. Alcohol wasn’t a part of his strict model diet, anyway.

“And lastly,” Nino had said, inclining his head towards the crowd of moving people, “always be on the lookout for invitations.”

With his inexperience, Adrien had needed a bit of clarification on that point. Nino had given him a rundown on all the signs someone wanted to dance with you until Adrien was confident in his ability to spot said invitations, at which point he'd knocked back his ginger ale _(‘really letting loose tonight’)_  before the pair hit the dance floor.

Sliding into the crowd had brought on a wave of giddy excitement for Adrien, though his movements started off stiff and unsure. Nino led him for the most part, pulling his friend along as the seasoned veteran grouped and regrouped with ease. Adrien found himself in awe at the display of confidence, watching with raised brows as Nino flawlessly found partner after partner with little more than a subtle glide in the right direction or a light hand placed in silent question.

To his own small shame, Adrien had jumped no less than a foot in the air when he first felt a girl slide up in front of him, jerking his head around so fast that he nearly unsettled his Ladybug mask. Sure enough, it had happened just as Nino said it would — his new partner throwing an inviting look over her shoulder before winking through the eyeholes of her disguise and slowly backing her way towards him — but it had still taken Adrien by surprise.

To say his first attempt at dancing had been less than ideal would be sugar-coating.

Like, a lot.

Turns out swaying in place with your hands pinned to your sides wasn’t exactly the name of the game, as evidenced but the way his companion had skittered away less than minute later, but Adrien hadn’t let it eat at him, instead making a mental note to be more — was "physical" the right word? — the next time around.

And there certainly was a next time, as each new song had brought new partners and new chances for him to ease into this foreign scene as the blonde acquainted himself with the rules and rituals of the club around him. Adrien had spent the next two hours soaking it all in, growing marginally less awkward with each encounter until he could no longer be considered a newcomer.

He'd felt invincible, like someone his stumbling, homeschooled fourteen-year-old self would idolize for his daring. He'd felt comfortable. He'd felt alive. He'd felt _exhilarated._

That is, until Nino had inevitably been summoned for his set.

“You’ll be great, bro,” the DJ had said, flashing his friend a thumbs up as they made to part ways near the stage. His slot was scheduled to begin in mere minutes, but he still seemed to be in a state of relative ease.

“Shouldn’t I be the one cheering you on?” Adrien had responded with a lopsided grin, returning the thumbs up as he stood below the sound booth.

“Please, this is my natural habitat! You, on the other hand, are a greenie still in need of a proper partner.”

“I’ll find one eventually…”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” was Nino’s chuckled response, giving his friend a final fist bump as he was introduced over the loudspeaker. “In fact, I’ll be sure to play some tunes guaranteed to draw your lucky lady in. Now go get ‘em, tiger!”

So now here Adrien was, wandering the dance floor as he tried to will himself back into the action. Technically he wasn’t alone: there was probably a good 200 people packed in around him, as well as an astonishingly asleep kwami nestled in his lapel. Still, Adrien couldn’t help but feel a bit stranded as he waded among the crowd.

 _‘Well,’_ he thought, swallowing the discomfort at being on his own while he navigated the waves of people around him in search of a possible niche, _‘time to see how well I can swim without my water wings.’_

His rescue came in the form of an outstretched hand.

Adrien stopped short, looking down at the grandly bowing figure before him with a timid sense of excitement. _‘Could that be…?’_  

He had just enough time to register the pair of black cat ears nestled in a head of luminous dark hair before that very same crown was raised in greeting. A familiar mask spanned the figure’s grinning face, confirming Adrien’s suspicions in the best of ways as the girl blinked up at him with inquisitive blue eyes.

“Well hello, Ladybug,” she drawled over the crowd, hand still extended in a summons Adrien knew only too well. “I’ve been searching for you all night.”

“If it isn’t Chat Noir,” Adrien responded, immediately falling into the charade as he slid his hand into the stranger's grasp. “Don’t you have some bad luck to spread?”

With a cheeky smile fit for her namesake (he of all people could confirm her impression was spot on) “Chat Noir” bent down to brush a kiss atop his knuckles. The gesture sent a jolt of warmth through the young man even as he ruminated on the irony of the situation.

“Not tonight, my Lady,” was her purring reply, the words carrying surprisingly well despite the noise around them. “I’ve got another mission in mind… That is, if my trusted sidekick is down for the adventure?”

“If anything, I’d say you were the sidekick,” Adrien pointed out, letting himself match her rhythm as the girl began a subtle sway before him. _‘Well damn, she makes a prettier Chat Noir than I do…’_  he thought appreciatively, trying his best to keep his gaze polite as her black ensemble shifted with each movement of her torso.

“Let’s just split the difference and call each other partners.”

“In crime fighting, or dancing?”

“Why not both?” Chat Noir said, lifting her shoulders in a carefree shrug before turning around and slotting herself against him with a mischievous wiggle. Adrien immediately let his hands settle on her waist, drawing from his (admittedly limited) past experience as he fell into motion alongside her. His heartbeat thumped pleasantly in his chest, less in response to the rising tempo of the music and more as a result of his partner’s easy yet exciting dance moves.

The dark-haired little lady expertly toed the line between fun and flirty, humming under her breath with a childlike sense of innocence that balanced out the decidedly more adult things the rest of her body was doing, and Adrien felt himself grow comfortable with her at once. He grinned as he guided his partner to twirl in time with the beat and laughed as she tossed her head with an over-the-top wink. Likewise, he played up his Ladybug persona accordingly, striking a few heroic poses before the two of them launched into a full-fledged game of “who can act more like their costume?”

She would bow and dip, stalking and strutting with a cocky smirk that sent him laughing at the movements’ hilarity. He in turn teased and sidestepped, channeling his years of first-hand experience with Paris’ bespeckled heroine into every movement of his body. Their comradery was easy, seamlessly shifting from goofy to sultry and back again as Nino continued to spin a perfect soundtrack for the night.

But the simmering spark between them was bound to either flare up or fizzle out, just as it had for every other partner he’d encountered that night, and by the duo’s third dance Adrien could feel them reaching that unmentioned tipping point. The shift in mood didn’t go unnoticed by his partner either it would seem, as evidenced by the way she pressed herself closer in a slow grind that indicated she was far from through with him. Adrien swallowed, thinking past the noise and commotion to focus on the way “Chat Noir” twisted her hips against his own.

 _‘If only she knew her partner was the real deal,’_ he thought with a gleam, watching the young woman weave her arms up into the air before tracing them down her sides. _‘Would she be more or less confident, I wonder?’_

His mental train of consciousness nearly derailed as Adrien felt a slim hand grip the back of his head, the girl’s arm snaking behind her to bring his face deliciously close as she glanced over her shoulder. They had yet to speak since their teasing introduction, but she broke that silence now, using their new closeness to her advantage as she tittered over the music.

“Show me your best moves, superhero…”

The entreaty lit a pleasant heat under Adrien’s skin, making him momentarily forget that they were strangers and coaxing his pelvis forward to trace across her backside. “Chat Noir” arched into the movement, never ceasing in her undulations against him as her approval only stoked Adrien’s ever-swelling…

…ego.

“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he shot back, feeling the familiar confidence that came from being masked and anonymous flow hot through his veins. Chat grinned.

“Deal.”

Not a second after the words left her mouth, the young woman swung into a sinister move that looked like it came straight out of a stripper film. Adrien's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her wiggling to the floor with a mischievous roll of her torso, and he felt his hands go slack as they traced up her descending sides. With each downtick in the music, “Chat Noir” let her body dip lower until she had sunk into a near-squat.

_‘What is—’_

Adrien barely had time to ponder her play before his partner shot up again, leading with her backside as it bobbed up to wag against him in a motion more akin to an excited puppy than her feline namesake. “Chat Noir” moved like an animal, but the laugh she gave when she heard his soft curse was all human, feminine and free and so very attractive in its blasé appreciation that Adrien had to work to keep his head from spinning. _‘Damn, she’s good…’_

The area under his mask was flushed, partly from exertion, partly from bashfulness and partly from something else entirely, but he thought through the heat to force his body into cooperation. He may be green, dammit, but that didn’t mean he was about to be shown up by his own alter-ego!

Adrien gathered his courage, pressing one hand into his partner's torso to angle her into an upright position, while the other skated down the side of her thigh. He shivered at the proximity, drawing her increasingly familiar form flush against his body and aligning the two of them until they matched up in perfect synchronisation.

Despite the fact he’d only met his partner a scant half-hour earlier, Adrien felt inexplicably drawn to her, to the way she moved and coaxed. That dark hair, those challenging blue eyes — everything about the girl just dug at him, and as they continued to grind into each other, Adrien couldn’t fight down the strong sensation of familiarity... or the feeling they had been weaving alongside each other for years rather than just minutes.

“Chat Noir” threw another grin behind her, but this time Adrien matched it with his own equally disarming look, letting his fingers bunch in the black fabric across her hips as he met her every twitch and twirl. Her moves were both lewd and sophisticated, somehow managing to keep an air of refinement about her even as she ground against him in a manner that could only be described as provocative. The way she teased only made the temperature of the already sweltering dance floor soar. It made _him_  soar.

It also made him _hot_ , in more ways than he’d thought possible, and Adrien felt his eyes drawn to the pale column of her neck where it emerged under her dark bun. The cat ears atop her head were taunting him, attractive in a way that verged on the worrying.

 _‘I definitely don’t have a kink for girls dressed like my alter ego,’_ Adrien tried convincing himself.

He gave into the notion a mere four seconds later when “Chat Noir” winked one eye behind her mask.

_'Okay, I so I maybe… definitely… have a kink for girls dressed like my alter ego. Sue me.’_

Perhaps things would have been different if they weren’t dressed as a matched pair.

Perhaps things would be different if he weren’t so lost in the drumming beat or if she wasn’t so _phenomenal_ at pressing her ass into the space between his legs.

But things weren’t different, and Adrien (the same sweet, semi-innocent young man who just yesterday would have sworn up and down he wasn’t the type to put the moves on a literal stranger) was so liberated by his surroundings that he barely registered his decision to draw “Chat Noir” closer until he had her lined up against him inch by shuddering inch.

Until he whispered a soft, “How’s this for moves?” against the shell of his partner’s ear.

Until he was planting an open-mouthed kiss against the invitingly flushed skin of her neck.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more clubbing shenanigans occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need... like... a spray bottle filled with cold water, so I can follow these kids around and just fucking spritz them when they do shit like this (*is totally the person who wrote them doing shit like this*).  
> Enjoy Sinners.

Marinette let out a gasp as something warm and wet attached itself to the nape of her neck.

_‘Did he just…?’_

Her hips stilled, body shivering in exhilaration once she confirmed that the 'Ladybug' she’d been ~~dry-humping~~ dancing with for the past half hour had, in fact, kissed her neck. Although she paused more out of surprise than unwillingness, it made her partner jerk in concern, and he immediately retreated with a stream of apologies as his hands slid off her waist.

“Sorry! S-sorry!” he stuttered, voice cracking and pitched in panic. “I don’t... I-I’m not sure why I did that. Sorry.”

Marinette twisted around, giving the penitent blonde a coy smile that hopefully didn’t betray how fast her heart was beating. “No, that’s fine!” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the new space between them. “I told you to show me what you’ve got, and, well…” Her fingers flitted over the pulsing spot of heat behind her jaw, and she shrugged. “...You definitely showed me.”

'Ladybug' flashed a grimace. “It’s… my first time,” he admitted, “First time dancing, that is. I guess I got carried away.” Letting out a nervous chuckle, he reached up with one hand to rub at the back of his head. “Sorry again. I really should have asked first.”

“You could ask now,” Marinette suggested, hoping to lure him back to work.

Her partner's eyebrows raised above the top of his mask in surprise. She lifted hers in return, challenging. Sure, his actions had been a bit unexpected, but damn if she didn’t have a weak spot for neck kisses.

And blondes.

And blondes giving her neck kisses.

“Oh, you... _want_ me to…?” he trailed off in question.

“Yes please,” Marinette chuckled. The poor guy seemed at a loss for words, so she affixed her face with something akin to a demure smirk (if such an expression actually existed), and slid forward until she was just inches from her 'Ladybug’s' chest.

“But,” she continued, letting a little of Chat Noir’s flirtatiousness seep into her words, “you’ll have to be a little more… _physical_ if you want to impress me with your moves, hero.”

All at once their earlier spark seemed to rush back, lighting across her partner’s suddenly beaming face with an added rush of relief. He closed the remaining space between them, bringing them together in the shifting crowd, and Marinette’s chest fluttered in anticipation.

Slowly his hands came back up to her hips, all tanned and manicured, a single silver ring adorning one knuckle. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, turning her around and brushing a few loose strands of hair out of the way of his target.

“And if it’s not enough?” Marinette teased back.

“It will be.”

And boy, was it.

One second his lips were tickling the peach fuzz strewn across her neck, and next they were fastened on the tender skin behind her ear, sucking and massaging in tandem with his torso as it moved against her back. This time Marinette’s gasp was wholly awed, escaping from her grinning mouth as she resumed her own moves. His tongue was hot, branding her with a sensation almost as sharp as his teeth when they scraped along her skin, but the puffs of damp breath that followed each stroke were enough to keep the girl from overheating due to her partner’s intoxicating temperature.

 _‘Excellence demands excellence,’_  she mused, rewarding 'Ladybug’s' skillful ministrations with a particularly enticing shake of her tail. To her immense pleasure, her move only seemed to spur him on, and Marinette let her head loll back as she felt a gentle bite pull at a sensitive spot below her jaw.

She wondered if it would bruise.

(Part of her hoped it would.)

Together they swayed for several minutes, her maintaining the illusion of some shared tempo while he, in turn, did everything in his power to distract her from the beat. 'Ladybug' may have been green on the dance floor, but the way his mouth moved, every lick and nip expertly tailored to pick her apart at the seams, led Marinette to believe the young man behind her was fairly versed in certain other physical activities.

 _‘There no way someone’s tongue gets that agile by staying home on the weekends,’_  she thought distractedly, mind growing hazy as 'Ladybug' alternately abused and soothed her neck with his careful attention. _‘I wonder if Alya is sober enough to drive the girls home…’_

There was a small pop as her partner separated from his work, cool air hitting the slick spot he left behind with a shiver-inducing hiss. The pair stood suspended in time for a moment before Marinette turned in his arms, hooking her hands around his neck. She glanced around to see that they were more or less stagnant amongst the sea of movers, halted in their own little world.

“I don’t think this is considered dancing any more,” her partner breathed against the shell of her ear.

“This stopped being dancing two songs ago,” Marinette admitted. “At least on my part.”

'Ladybug' gave an almost audible swallow.

“So… what are you trying to do now?” he asked, hands inching up around her waist.

 _‘Good question. What_ am _I doing now?’_  Marinette asked herself, heart still thumping in time with the music and body still flushed from their last ten minutes of “not-dancing.”

In her years of experience with clubbing, she’d _never_ stuck with a stranger this long. At this point Marinette hesitated to even _call_  him a stranger, despite the fact she still didn’t have a name for the young man she’d been throwing herself at for the last... however long they’d been going at it.

_‘Huh… "going at it"…’_

Though she didn’t consider herself the one-night-stand type, Marinette _did_  have to admit the idea was gaining traction — and fast. They were both young, gorgeous (well, at least _he_ was), physically compatible young adults. Lord knew her bed hadn’t seen some action in a while, and what better time to be adventurous than now?

_‘What is college good for if not spur-of-the-moment sexual encounters with tall hunky blondes dressed as your alter ego?’_

“I’m trying to pick you up,” Marinette declared, pushing aside her slip of hesitation in favor of embracing her inner liberated self. Her inner Alya.

Green eyes blinked down at her from behind the red mask, both colors distorted under the flashing neon lights but recognizable nonetheless.

He responded without missing a beat.

“Good luck. I’m kind of heavy.”

There was a stretch of silence (okay, maybe not _silence,_  as they were still standing smack in the middle of a boisterous dance floor) in which Marinette didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. His shit-eating grin made the decision for her.

“Oh my god…” she groaned, the noise shot through with giggles at his corny wit. Large hands playfully twisted her torso this way and that, the boy attached to said hands shooting Marinette a goofy smile.

“That was good, right?” he asked. “Just came up with it right this second!”

“I _guess_ ,” Marinette conceded, letting her palms skate down to brace against his chest.  “But I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to be making all the dumb jokes.” She tapped her cat ears for emphasis.

“Actually, about that...” her partner began, biting his lip in a way that almost made Marinette completely miss his next words. “It’s probably safe to say you look more like Ladybug than Chat Noir at this point…”

“A-and why is that?” Marinette asked with just a hint of panic. Had she let something slip? Oh god, if her identity came out as a result of some dirty dancing, the real Chat would never let her live it down…

“Well…” 'Ladybug' gave a sheepish wince, craning his neck to glance down at her own. “I might have left you with a few polka-dots.”

“A few…?” Marinette trailed off as the statement clicked. _‘Oh.’_

She wiggled her jaw a bit, the subtle stab of discomfort that sprung up at the motion confirming her suspicions.

“Yeah,” he said with an apologetic cock of the head. “I…uh…didn’t really stop to think about that. Sorry.”

“Well, I kind of asked for it,” Marinette reminded him with a shrug. Hickeys had never really bothered her overmuch, though she’d never received one from a stranger before.

…Perhaps more than one if the spread of her ache was any indication.

“Actually, _I_  asked,” 'Ladybug' mused, eyes heating up as he pulled Marinette just a bit closer. The music had shifted back to a deep rhythm again, lulling them into an erotic sway.

“I wanted it,” Marinette reminded him.

“I thought you wanted to pick me up?” he shot back just as quick.

“Who say I can’t do both?”

“Oh! So you’ve moved up to doing me, hm? How fur-ward of you.”

“You keep that up and we just might have to trade masks,” Marinette teased to cover her rising excitement. This guy was straddling the line between dorky and suave, and the combination was a definitive double knockout in the attraction department.

Her partner grinned, the toothy smile looking all kinds of familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place. “It’s a good thing you look great in spots,” he murmured back, letting the back of his knuckles ghost along the side of her neck. She smirked.

“Well, you—“

The first explosion had hardly died down before Marinette was dashing off, resigned to adding a few more spots to her existing collection.

 

* * *

 

The sound of screaming rose from the other end of the dance floor, purple smog roiling through the space as a towering figured stretched to fill the vaulted ceiling with its girth. The akuma roared something about **“goddamn frat boys”** , upending its massive cup to splash sparkling liquid down on an unlucky group of young men settled by the bar. They immediately dropped to the floor, dripping wet and out cold.

_‘Akuma… Figures.’_

Adrien spun with a parting line on his tongue, swallowing the excuse when he found an empty space where his feline partner once stood. He shrugged, figuring she seemed the capable type, and slipped from the crowd without so much as a backwards glance.

One hand nudging the black mass in his pocket awake and the other shoving open the door to the men’s room, Adrien corralled everyone out and into the hallway before releasing Plagg from his shirt.

“Oh thank goodness, I was _so bored_ ,” the kwami said, for once giving no complaint as he immediately spiraled into his miraculous. Adrien was bit jarred by the sudden transformation- having never experienced the rush of primal magic across his body without first saying his catchphrase -but eventually the vertigo passed, and soon Chat Noir was sprinting his way back onto the dancefloor.

The place had cleared out fast, as was the usual response to a possessed villain going on a rampage. The only thing left in the building was a giant hole in the ceiling and a few random piles of unconscious bodies. Figuring it was a safe bet the fight had moved elsewhere, Adrien vaulted himself out of the new skylight and up onto the roof.

**“Now who doesn't want a drink?!”**

The akuma was stalking the street amongst the panicked crowd, civilians in club wear scattering to wind as the monster zeroed in on every vaguely male form within eyeshot before dousing them in her sedative concoction. **“What, you don't like being called baby?!"**

“Hey!” Chat yelled, immediately falling into his role as the distraction. “Leave the catcalling to me!”

The akuma answered with a particularly choice string of curse words, swiveling its ever-flowing chalice toward the superhero and letting loose a torrent of shimmering purple liquid.

Chat dodged easily, sailing over to the adjacent rooftop before continuing to goad. “At least buy me dinner first!”

It wasn’t often that he reached an akuma before Ladybug, but when the blue moon occasion did arise, Adrien found his best tactic was to stall. After all, she was the only one with the power to cleanse, so even if he _did_  manage to wrangle the possessed artifact away on his own, he’d be stuck holding a fluttering butterfly between his paws and waiting for his Lady anyway.

It didn’t bother him much. He knew his role was to balance his partner out. And if that meant strutting around in a cat suit and spewing awful puns… well then, that was just a sacrifice he had to make.

“Man, you really laid this party to rest!” the hero crowed, waving his baton for good measure. “I mean seriously, way to douse all the fun.”

“Mercy!” another, distinctly less-akumatized voice rang out, drawing Adrien’s attention with an expectant smile. “You’re putting me to sleep over here.”

“Goddamnit, I was saving that one!” he bemoaned as the figure touched down beside him.

“You snooze you lose,” Ladybug said, reeling in her yo-yo with a shrug. The heroine's gaze swept the scene with a practiced eye, no doubt crafting some sort of battle strategy as she toyed with her weapon.

“I think I love you,” Adrien declared, only half-exaggerating his dreamy sigh.

“So you’ve told me.” Ladybug turned to him with a smirk, and something in the expression sent a jolt of recognition through him.

 _‘Of course you recognize your own crime-fighting partner,’_  he mentally chided himself, pushing away the irrational image of electric green heels, felted cat ears and a swiveling pair of hips. _‘Now start thinking with your other head and do your job.’_

One would think dancing would be quite a bit easier than battling a twenty foot tall villain dead set on putting you in a coma, but Adrien was more at ease in battle than on any club floor. The two heroes fell into their usual rhythm fairly quickly, dodging and striking with an effortless synchrony that only came with years of shared experience.

"Comfortable" was one way to describe it. Adrien felt comfortable hooking Ladybug around the waist as they shot up into the sky. He felt comfortable pounding the pavement beside her, just as he felt comfortable crashing down upon it when he took a rogue kick to the hip.

(Okay, maybe that last part was a bit less-than-comfortable, but the red clad hand that helped him back to his feet could definitely be classified as such.)

It wasn’t the easiest akuma to take down, not with the threat of a quick lights-out looming at every tip of her cup. There were definitely some close calls — especially for Chat, with him fitting the bill of the akuma’s self-declared loathing of men. But once he managed to crack one of its heels, the stiletto shattering as Cataclysm tore across the suede-wrapped material, the akuma toppled fairly quickly.

From there, it was all Ladybug. Adrien watched as she managed to secure the chalice, using her Lucky Charm to snare the tainted artifact before smashing it into the ground. He watched her cleanse the akuma, toss her charm up into the air (would he ever tire of watching that healing magic rush out over the city? Probably not) and then turn to him for their last ritual of the night.

“Pound it,” the heroes sang out in tandem, bringing their fists together in the same victory gesture they had been playing out since they were kids. Their Miraculous chimes were also in perfect sync — his paw print showing three pads while she was running on two polka dots — but the duo had become so accustomed to the timing that there was no panic to rush on either part.

“So I’ve got to ask,” Ladybug began, posturing atop the highest precipice of the club’s roof as she surveyed the waking citizens below. “You got here before me, so I’m assuming you were here even before the akuma?”

“Been dancing my tail off all night,” Adrien confirmed, giving a lash of said appendage for emphasis.

“Probably not as much as I have…” she trilled out with a poorly buried smile.

Adrien quirked a brow at that. He hadn't really pictured Ladybug as the clubbing type — but then again, he usually wasn't either, and that hadn’t stopped him from coming out tonight. “If I’d have known my Lady was in the building, I would have saved you a dance.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I think I saw enough Chat Noir masks in there to last me a lifetime.”

“Luckily for me, I found the cutest one,” Adrien boasted, recalling his dance partner and her own signature shake of the tail.

When the girl had confessed to trying to pick him up, he’d admittedly experienced a brief moment of panic. Though maybe "panic" wasn’t the right word — panic implied he was somehow _against_ the idea of her dragging him home and showing off the rest of her moves.

Which he was very much not opposed to.

Better to call it trepidation. Adrien had felt _trepidation_ over her proposition because (surprise, surprise) he was also woefully inexperienced with the concept of one night stands. 

Luckily he didn’t have to play the what-if game any more, the choice having been taken from his hands now that there was a slim chance of ever running into his dance partner again. Part of him was almost relieved to have the pressure off, but a much larger, more lustful part of him was sad to think he’d let such an entrancing girl slip away.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ladybug said, cutting through his musings with a confident tease. “I look pretty damn great in cat ears.”

A pause.

“What?” Adrien asked dumbly, his brain rejecting the first explanation for her words due to the sheer impossibility of that particular implication.

 _‘She’s not saying… she_ cannot _be saying…’_

“Yeah, you know that gag gift you got me back in April?” she continued, pose defiant as she conjured a self-satisfied smile. “Turns out I found a use for it after all!”

“You… you’re dressed like me tonight?” Adrien breathed. His heart pounded in a rough staccato as all the signs seemed to line up like some cheesy back-of-the-cereal-box word scramble.

I w_s danc_in_ wi_h La_ybu_.

Almost there, he was almost there. He just had to collect one more box top and mail them all out to receive his decoder ring…

“Well yeah,” she snorted, “I didn’t exactly have another mask at home. And it’s not like I could use this one.” Ladybug tapped at the material bridging her nose, then perked up at the sound of her final Miraculous beep and readied herself to exit.

Adrien could only watch in absolute incredulity as she turned, pale neck flashing under the moonlight as it illuminated a familiar pattern of hickeys that disappeared into her collar.

The smoking gun.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to yell or sing or possibly pass out.

“But that’s just fine,” she mused, fingers idly tracing the patterns he so eagerly wanted to recapture with his tongue, his lips, “because I already found myself a Ladybug who pulls off polka-dots better than I do.”

Surprisingly, Chat didn’t yell or sing or pass out.

Surprisingly, he spoke.

“I don’t know about that,” Adrien said, voice miraculously suave considering his current inner turmoil ( _elation_ ) as he strode towards her on jittery legs. Ladybug quirked a brow at his approach but didn't shy away as he closed the distance between them.

Throwing his reservations off the roof to smash on the street below, Adrien slid up behind her, resting one hand on that oh-so-familiar hip and trailing the other along the curve of her neck.

“Chat?” she questioned. The inquiry was followed by a gasp as his mouth brushed her bruised flesh in a quick kiss, and Adrien could practically sense her realization. “Y-you…?”

A flash of light illuminated the rooftop, quickly followed by another. Despite the already overwhelming evidence of her identity, Adrien's breath still caught in his throat as the red suit melted into black cotton. The sight of two jauntily-placed cat ears simultaneously sped his pulse and silenced any doubts he might have had over exactly who had been dancing with him all evening.

And who had been trying to pick him up.

“I still say you look great with spots," Adrien murmured into the nape of Ladybug's neck, swaying his partner in a shared tempo that was far more comfortable than every other movement they’d experienced that night put together.

"You're an excellent dancer, my Lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be at least one more chapter... maybe two??


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sticks leg out* Ah hey look, a new chapter! Consider this a late Christmas gift. Also, this fic is now slated to run for four total chapters because I have no self control :^)
> 
> Side note: It’s come to my attention a lot of people seem to think DD stands for “dirty dancing”, and while that definition is apt in this case, the actual term means “designated driver”, which explains why Marinette isn’t drinking on this particular night. Just a little PSA for you.
> 
> (As always, thanks to Mirth for her invaluable help in beta reading.)

She didn’t immediately scream, so that was something.

What Marinette _also_  didn’t do at the oh-so-familiar sensation of lips brushing her neck was jump off the roof. Which was probably smart, considering the wide-eyed kwami hovering before her was in no place to stop her from becoming a smear on the pavement if she took a three story nosedive.

Tikki’s gaze darted over Marinette’s shoulder, taking in the sight Marinette herself was too petrified to brave, and the expression that came over the creature’s face was one of abject _victory._  She grinned (actually grinned!), holding in snickers as she dipped tiredly back into her designated pocket for the night, but Marinette was far too focused on the two arguing figures behind her back to pay heed to the conniving kwami.

Well, that, and having a full-fledged mental breakdown.

“I’m hungry,” came a snide, somewhat nasally voice.

“Christ, are you— not now, Plagg!”

“You know the deal. One wedge of cheese per transformation or I’ll _die_.”

“Ladybug’s kwami isn’t eating, and they aren’t dead.”

“Well I’m not Ladybug’s kwami, now, am I?”

“I’m in the middle of something,” Chat hissed, his voice sounding… softer somehow? More tempered without his transformation.

 _Familiar_ , despite the fact it was no longer distorted by the noise of the club around them.

“Fine,” the second speaker (Plagg?) replied. “But I expect to be fed once you’re done making googly eyes at your girlfriend.” He nearly retched the last word, as if it were some filthy thing, and Marinette felt her pocket vibrate with a telltale Tikki titter.

She idly wondered when the two kwamis last spent any quality time together.

She idly wondered if delivering a swift kick to Chat’s kneecaps and vaulting down the nearest fire escape was a viable option.

She turned instead.

“Oh, you’re kidding me!”

Chat Noir stood in patient wait with the same blonde hair, same glittering green eyes, and same giddy (shit-eating) grin from before. He waved the same hands that had wrapped around her waist, quirked the same lips that had brought her blood to a boil, and shifted the same body that—

“You’re… you’re kidding me,” Marinette repeated in a slightly softer tone, unwilling to continue that particular line of thought for fear of blushing over _Chat Noir_  of all people.

Chat tweaked an eyebrow behind the mask that so often made a home upon her face, spreading his arms and inviting her to examine him with an unspoken ‘ta-da!’. “Nope!” he said, as if this entire situation were the most ordinary occurrence in the world. “No kitten around here!”

Though she’d usually have some sort of whip-smart reaction to his oh-so-clever quip, Marinette found she could only stare.

(A part of her felt a flutter of pride that Chat would choose to dress up like her. What a devoted crime-fighting partner she had on her hands!

Another, much larger part of her was currently experiencing a full-blown crisis over how very ~devoted~ of a _dance_  partner he made. When _she_  was on _his_  hands, as it were.)

Not knowing how to fill the silence, Marinette let slip a giggle. Then a chuckle. Then a full-out bout of hysterical laughter. Chest-shaking, lung-depleting, body-wracking laughter.

She laughed because it was either that… or melt into a puddle of primordial goo in her size seven booties.

 _Fuck._  This was really happening.

 “You’re disappointed.”

Chat’s voice was soft, less jovial and definitely less confident as he drew her eyes to his. He looked hurt, obviously having taken her frantic laughter as a sign of rejection, and Marinette felt her titters instantly die in her throat.

“No! No, no, no, no!” she rushed to clarify, hands flying out to flutter nervously before her.  “I’m not disappointed! I’m just…”

_‘Trying to cope with the fact I more or less jumped CHAT NOIR in the middle of some club?’_

_‘Trying to cope with the fact I was prepared to drag him home with me?’_

_…_

_‘Trying to cope with the fact I might still be?'_

A breath.

“I’m not disappointed,” Marinette said delicately, noting the way Chat’s shoulders seemed to ease just a bit at the reassurance. “Why would I be?”

He shrugged. “Maybe because the guy you—”

Neither of them had the words to fill the blank, but the meaning was mutually understood. Despite herself, Marinette managed to work up a flush at the unspoken insinuation.

“—ended up being the partner you have absolutely no interest in?” Chat ended vaguely, toe scuffing the roof.

“Says who?”

Her interjection met with a dry tilt of his head; a silent _“Do I really have to say it?”_.

 _‘Oh, right,’_  Marinette thought, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she recalled the last six or so years of side-stepping Chat’s every advance. _‘That was definitely me who said that.’_

In her time since graduation, Marinette had often played the what-if game with herself.

What if she didn’t back down from her partner’s flirts? What if she’d just let her silly (and by the time her senior year had rolled around, exhausting) crush on Adrien Agreste go? What if she at least _tried_  to be something with Chat Noir?

_What if?_

(It wasn’t exactly a fun game, but hell if it didn’t keep her brain occupied.)

And now there was a whole new element to that game. A whole new player, even.

Because standing before her was the man behind the mask. The man _she’d_  picked out of the crowd. The man she’d been both silly and sultry with as they moved on the dance floor. The man who’d been so careful and considerate, even in the face of her… well… _less-than-sophisticated_  conduct.

He was the same.

Her partner was the same gallant, geeky, and undeniably genuine person no matter the disguise, and he’d still treated her like a lady while having no clue of her identity. That trademark “Chat Noir Posturing” wasn’t posturing at all. All the gentlemanly airs and the grand declarations Chat had sprung on her over the years weren’t simply idle flirtations, they were his sincere behaviors.

And suddenly Marinette couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed out on something really special.

Her head swam, just as her gut sank.

“Listen,” Chat began, drawing her from her revelation with the falsely casual interjection. His face was strung with a playful smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his aloof posture was a tad too stiff to be real. “Whatever happened tonight, it doesn’t mean I think you owe me or anything. Not an explanation or a second chance. I don’t expect you to… uh… follow through with whatever we may or may not have started on the dance floor.”

The wistful shrug he gave nearly made her throat close up.

“I had fun, but I understand if you—“

“I’m glad it was you!” Marinette blurted, unable to stomach his melancholy a second more.

Chat blinked in surprise, the first hint of a real smile blooming across his face. He took a step towards her. “You are?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, blaming the way her heart jumped on the sudden reappearance of music from the club beneath their feet. (A logical explanation.) “I’m almost relieved, really. I don’t exactly make a habit of letting complete strangers…”

Again, there was no magical buzzword to describe the events of earlier, so Marinette’s hand flitted up to gesture meekly at her neck, hoping that would be clarification enough. Mercifully, Chat let her pass.

“What I’m trying to say is,” she continued, capturing his eyes from where they had glued themselves to her collarbone, “if I’m going to let anyone get all up in my personal space, I’d rather it be one of my best friends than some creepy stranger.”

The grin Chat gave was nothing if not glib, looking strangely at home on the masked civilian before her.

“You didn’t know I was me, though,” he pointed out wryly. “So technically you _did_  just let a creepy stranger get all up in your personal space.”

Marinette scoffed, waving a hand. “Nonsense, you were a perfect gentleman.”

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe a bit inexperienced with the dancing—" She winked to show she was just teasing. "—but nothing a little practice won’t fix.”

“Why, Bugaboo!” Chat gasped, hand pressed to his sternum in mock-shock. “Was that an offer to be my teacher? Because I _heartily_ accept.”

He slid up beside her, white grin glinting in the street lights, and Marinette struggled to recall if he was always this tall and broad-shouldered. Surely the suit couldn’t hide that much?  

She shook the thoughts off.

_‘Down, girl.’_

“You know… why not?” she answered flippantly, making what must have been her third or fourth spur-of-the-moment decision of the night by crooking her finger at him in invitation.

Chat stared at her outstretched hand as if it were an alien thing. "What?"

"I _said_ , 'why not?'” she repeated, resisting the urge to laugh at his positively gobsmacked appearance. “Up for a midnight lesson, _chaton_?"

"H-here?"

"Correct me if I’m wrong, but we seem to be stuck on a roof. And I’m not sure about your kwami, but Tikki’s gonna need a quick nap before she can transform me without cookies.”

Marinette’s expression grew sly.

“Unless, of course, you have a hot date waiting for you downstairs? In which case I’m _sure_  we could find a fire escape.”

Chat shook his head, amusement replacing wonder as a smile tore across his face. “Well, now that you mention it, there _was_  this one girl…”

“Oh?” Marinette inched forward, her body falling into a subtle sway almost of its own accord. “Do tell. I might have seen her.”

With a look that seemed both eager and impossibly demure — as if he hadn’t had his tongue all over her neck not even an hour before — Chat stepped into rhythm beside her, shifting from foot to foot in time to the pulsing beat that vibrated under their heels.  “Well,” he began, “she was gorgeous—“

“Relax your spine.”

“—and _extremely_  demanding.”

In a grand show of maturity, Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. Chat responded with a snicker.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure it says somewhere that you have to use a firm hand when training cats." Marinette tapped his foot to widen his stance. "Otherwise they won't listen to a word you say."

"Have I mentioned your hair looks lovely under the moonlight, my Lady?"

"Case in point."

"Or that your eyes shine like a thousand—"

"Chat," Marinette tsked, not a trace of actual venom in the glare she threw his way, "It's kind of hard for me to focus when you keep saying things like that."

Chat grinned in triumph. "I knew it! My wooing does affect you!"

"Nonsense," she lied smoothly (no point in letting him know she did, in fact, enjoy his flirting during most non-akuma encounters — it would only inflate his ego). "It's just impossible for me to give instructions when you won't stop talking."

She paused, brushing her fingertips along his chest.

"You _do_ want me to teach you to dance... don't you, _chaton_?"

Years ago, Ladybug had discovered the only sure-fire way to shut her partner up was to flirt back at him. Though he acted debonair, Chat Noir was the very definition of "not able to take what he dished out", and a well placed eyelash flutter on her part was all it took to get him clamming up in an instant.

Predictable as ever, Chat's eyes widened, dropping down to the almost casual way she stroked his collar before soaring back up. "Y-yeah, of course!" he managed through a gulp, red racing up the sides of his neck and staining the high-set apples of his cheeks. "I'm yours to comman— e-educate!"

Marinette grinned. "Then let's get started."

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes and as many stepped-on toes later, Marinette sorely wished she had a squirt bottle at her disposal.

She'd tried everything she could think of to get Chat to relax, hoping to lure out the same sultry, easygoing man she'd danced with not an hour before, but it was no use. His movements were stiff, nervous, and it was obvious _something_ was throwing him off.

“You gotta be _smooth_ ,” Marinette explained, planting her palms on Chat’s shoulders and shaking them as if to loosen him up. “Just relax into it.”

“I’m the literal personification of smooth,” he scoffed, stumbling as a particularly forceful shake knocked his feet into each other. Marinette grinned knowingly. “Well, I would be if you’d stop jostling me!”

“C’mon,” she coaxed, gesturing for him to space out his feet. “I’ve seen Chat Noir dance around with that staff of his nearly every day since we started akuma fighting. This isn’t any different.”

“Of course it’s different,” he grumbled back, voice tinged with more uncertainty than temper. “I’m not Chat Noir right now.”

Marinette slowed her roll, dumbstruck by the realization that he was right.

While she wasn’t naïve enough to believe she became an entirely different person when she was Ladybug, Marinette would be lying if she said the Miraculous had no effect on how she carried herself. It was like… like her transformation _augmented_  her, not outright changing who she was as an individual, but instead amplifying the parts of herself she loved most.

Marinette was brave, but Ladybug was fearless.

Marinette was kind, but Ladybug was selfless.

Marinette was crafty, but Ladybug was _creation personified._

And just like her spots and spandex acted as a conduit for some of her less obvious strengths, Chat’s ears and tail must have behaved the very same way.

“Turn around,” Marinette said suddenly, slipping from his grasp and twirling her fingers. Though startled, Chat acquiesced, turning on his heel until he faced away from her.

“Is this another weird relaxation exercise?” he asked, hooking his thumbs into the loops of his pants. “Or are you going to..."

His voice trailed off as two pale fingers extended a black mask over his shoulder.

“M-my Lady?”

“Put it on,” Marinette urged, trying not to squirm as the night air blew across her uncovered cheeks. Being unmasked, _exposed_ , just inches away from her partner was oddly exhilarating. Almost as if she’d leapt from the building head first.

Chat shook himself from his reverie, slipping his own mask off his face before passing it behind him. Once he was certain she’d gotten her own disguise in order, he turned, and Marinette found the sight of his bright eyes ringed in black to be a welcome familiarity in this night of new explorations.

Upon further appraisal, however, her lips pursed. Something was missing.

_‘Oh, right.’_

Marinette plunged her hands through Chat’s carefully styled hair, dislodging the product-stiffened locks until they fell in wild wisps across his forehead. The sudden tousling earned her a crackling burst of laughter from her partner, one so endearingly familiar she couldn’t help but giggle along as she fished the black felted ears from her own hair and settled them atop his head.

_‘Perfect.’_

“There you are,” she said softly, surprised (but not entirely put off) by her own oddly sentimental tone. “There’s my Chat Noir.”

Chat (and she felt much more comfortable calling him that now that the mask matched the moniker) cracked a positively rakish grin, and the warm swell of recognition in her chest redoubled as the wild-child demeanor he wore so well settled over the man who was decidedly no longer a child.

“And there’s my Ladybug,” he crooned right back, eyes sparkling as they roved across her face. "Shall we?"

Marinette nodded, accepting his outstretched hand before nudging him into position.

Being back in all his feline splendor seemed to have a noticeable placebo effect on Chat, as his movements proceeded far less stiffly than they had before. Perhaps there was something to be said of the powers of black as a confidence booster, or perhaps the sight of her in her usual crimson was in some way soothing. Whatever the reason for it, their second (technically third) go at dancing progressed much more organically than their prior attempts, the duo’s actions guided by the muted beat that rumbled out from the building below, lit by the glow of the city around them, and honed by their years of fighting alongside one another.

Arms wound around the back of his neck and hips swaying gently beneath his palms, Marinette nodded her encouragement up at Chat. “There you go,” she said, delighting in the smile her praise conjured from him. “Now let’s just…”

Waiting until the next downtick in the music, Marinette did a 180, fingers sliding from the nape of his neck to twine with his hands as they ghosted across her rotating pelvis. Chat’s rhythm faltered at the sudden shift in position, but he was quick to adjust, tentatively stepping closer to her swaying form. Grinning, she carded their fingers together, pressing her back to his chest in _just enough_  of a tease to get her own blood pumping a bit faster.

(Because of the physical exertion, obviously.)

Marinette wasn’t blind. She knew, objectively, that her partner was one handsome tomcat. Alya often teased her about her oddly specific taste in guys, and he certainly fit the profile. All solid frame and lean muscle, Chat Noir was 6-foot-something of pure masculine goodness, a source of thirst for the vast majority of Paris since the day puberty had first smacked him across the face.

 _‘And chest,’_  Marinette’s mind tacked on, growing fuzzy from his heat bracketing her body. ‘ _And arms and thighs and stomach and as—‘_

“I-I think you’ve got the hang of that,” Marinette stammered, wrenching herself away from him before her traitorous hips gave her less-than-innocent thoughts away. Chat nodded, looking equal part confused and ( _‘sexy…’_ ) _amused_ at her sudden outburst.

Jesus Christ, she needed to get laid.

“How about we try something different?” Marinette babbled, switching their positions so that he stood in front of her. “Just to mix it…”

Finding her eyes exactly level with his shoulder blades, she trailed off with a sigh.

“What?” Chat said, craning his neck to peer down at her.

“You’re too tall, you know that?”

“Or you’re too short.” Marinette jabbed at his spine in retribution.

“I could squat down if you’d like?” Chat offered, dropping into a ridiculous half-crouch that had her grinning despite herself. “What’s that one dance move you did earlier? The one where you basically sat on the floor, threw me a sultry pout, then attempted to murder me with your hips? I could totally do that.”

Before Marinette could react (most likely by whacking him across the back of his head) Chat suddenly plunged into a full squat, hands planted dramatically atop his hips as they wiggled in a mockery of what she’d done an hour ago. He then straightened his legs, shooting up with his butt thrust out and his lips pursed into what must have been his definition of a “sultry pout” as he ground into her.

“Chat!” Marinette exclaimed, trying her best to sound stern despite the fact she was giggling like a maniac. It probably didn’t help that she'd placed her hands on his waist, effectively aiding his charade. “I do _not_  dance like that!”

If he heard her objection at all, Chat didn’t react, instead fluttering his lashes as he spoke in a ridiculous falsetto. “Oh hello beautiful blonde man dressed up as Ladybug, have I introduced you to my _ass_ —“ Another violent pop of his hips back into hers. “—yet?”

“S-stop!” Marinette begged, now nearly hysterical as she watched him try and fail to emulate her earlier dance move. “I’m gonna _cry._ ”

“Man,” Chat continued, barely holding in his own giggles as he shimmied beneath her hands, “I’m so glad I _finally_  get the chance to seduce my alter ego. This is a dream come true!”

Marinette’s laughter morphed into full-on snorting, her eyes rolling at his theatrics. “Oh please,” she said, hardly thinking about her actions as she pressed a quick kiss in the exact same place he’d marked her. “Don’t try and tell me you weren’t equally excited to bang someone dressed as Chat Noir.”

Silence ruled as Chat’s movements slowed to a halt, her words echoing across the roof and throughout her suddenly burning ears.

“I-I mean,” Marinette stammered, hands dropping from his waist as he turned to face her.  “Not that I meant to _imply_ anything, but you… y-you _seemed_  pretty into it at the time and…”

Marinette felt it best to tap out there.

In a scant few seconds at least half of the blood in her body had rushed to her face, no doubt illuminating the proof of just how “into it” he’d been, and she only flushed hotter as green eyes snapped hungrily to her neck.

“W-were you…?”

Chat took a deep breath, shaking his head, and Marinette felt the strangest thrill run up her spine to see his own cheeks were coloring.

“Were you really trying to pick me up?” he asked.

 _‘Trap!’_ her brain screamed. _‘You are walking straight into a trap!!!’_

“Is it really so much of a surprise?” Marinette shot back, ignoring every alarm in her head that said to just _shut up._ “You’re a handsome guy, Chat. You can’t tell me you aren’t used to people throwing themselves at you.”

...Come to think of it, that whole “kick to the kneecaps” escape plan was looking better and better.

Marinette bit her lip, cursing her lack of a filter. Chat just looked stunned.

“Well…” he began, clearing his throat, “…you sure were throwing _something_  at me.”

…

Marinette groaned on pure instinct when the trademark “Bad Joke Smile” broke across Chat’s face, the mounting tension between them dissolving as he shot her double finger guns.

“Oh, so we’re back to _that_  again, are we?” she asked, conjuring as much sass as she possibly could in her semi-mortified state.

“Seriously, Bug? _Back?_  You make this too easy.” Chat crossed his arms, looking so casual and comfortable and just _him_  that Marinette felt herself instinctively relax alongside him. She shook her head as her blush died down, affecting chagrin despite the fact she was secretly relieved at the change of topic. “And yes, we are _back_  to that. You should know by now I could spend hours waxing poetic about your Lucky Charm.”

Without warning, Marinette _exploded_  into a laugh, one that was more shriek than anything.

“Are you...?! You seriously named my ass ‘Lucky Charm’?!”

“Yup,” Chat responded brightly.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because…” He made sure she was paying due attention before winking broadly. “…You always know _just_  what to do with it.”

Marinette fell into hysterics for the second time that night, eventually forced to brace her hands on her knees to keep from collapsing. It certainly didn’t help that Chat felt the need to list off all the other possible names he’d come up with to describe her derrière, looking entirely too thrilled to have gotten her giggling again.

It was at some point between “Ladybutt” and “The Spotted Spectacle” that two groggy kwami roused from their naps, retreating from their makeshift beds only to find their chosen hanging off one another and positively _howling_  on an empty rooftop.

“You two done acting like children?” Plagg grumbled as their laughter died down, resisting the urge to yawn after Tikki did so loudly.

Thoroughly chastised, both humans nodded, chewing their lips to keep from losing it again.

(Which worked spectacularly up until Chat whispered “Miracul _ass_ ” beneath his breath.)

“That’s it,” griped Tikki, who got just as grumpy as her other half when deprived of cookies. “We’re getting them off this roof. Come on, Plagg.”

Consumed by her now almost _painful_  laughter, Marinette hardly registered her transformation as it washed over her body. She looked up just in time to see Chat’s mask and cat ears get replaced by the real deal, tears spilling over her own mask as it fused to her cheeks.

“I think,” she gasped, wiping the moisture away and sucking some much-needed air into her oxygen deprived lungs, “our kwami are trying to tell us something.”

"Agreed."

It took the pair a solid minute to compose themselves enough to descend from the roof, then another two to stop giggling as they milled about a dark corner behind the club. Even then, every time they looked at each other it was with a barely hidden grin, eyes of blue and green still glimmering with residual mirth.

Tikki and Plagg both got resounding apologies when they popped from their Miraculous, plus promises for all the food their hearts desired once they got home, and that seemed to be enough to coax them back into their respective hiding places. With his kwami tucked safely in his lapel, Chat presented his Lady with a customary hand kiss, offering to let her return to the club first while he waited outside.

“Best we avoid the suspicion,” he explained, his jovial expression tinged by only the smallest hint of sorrow. “As much as it’d be my honor to show up on your arm, it probably wouldn’t be smart for us to be seen together this soon after Ladybug and Chat Noir saved the day.”

“Smart kitty,” Marinette replied, equally bummed that their night had to end here.

Despite the bumps along the way, she could genuinely say she’d had a blast this evening. Dancing with Chat, laughing and joking and just simply _spending time with him_  out of costume had turned out to be quite the eye-opener, helping to put a number of things in perspective.

Whether he was playing the "debonair sidekick" (his words, not hers), or the sweet shy stranger on the dance floor, Chat Noir was a man like no other. He was an enigma, as goofy as he was handsome, and Marinette knew how rare that was to find.

He was warm and witty, fun and unexpected, with the kindest eyes and the most dazzling smile. She realized she wanted to always see that smile, wanted to be the cause of that smile, wanted to feel that smile melt into a sigh against her...

Oh.

_Oh._

Marinette blinked hard, turning to Chat with an expression akin to bewilderment.

"I'd like to kiss you," her mouth declared, entirely without hesitation or any permission from upstairs.

He looked as if she'd struck him.

"I... r-really?" Chat asked, his lips rhythmically parting and pressing as if that weren't at all what they'd meant to say. He shook his head, mentally rebooting, and tried again. _"Really?"_

Even knowing that what she planned to do next was most likely insane, Marinette had to giggle at how positively shocked he looked. Almost _scandalized_ , but in the very best of ways.

She took two steps forward, closed the distance between them. "Really."

Though she'd done it countless times before that night, Chat's breath still stuttered when her hands found his chest, her fingers inching over the tops of his shoulders to help her roll onto her toes. Her head rose, lips poised just inches from his own, but they didn't breach the gap. Not yet.

Not until he broke first.

Marinette needed something, _anything_ to help her process what she was feeling in this moment. Something to tell her whether this fluttering in her stomach was merely a product of the night, brought on by the music and the dancing and the sheer clandestineness of their encounter, or if it was something deeper. The culmination of _years_ spent in denial. She needed to know what — if anything — existed between Ladybug and Chat Noir, and she needed _him_ to be the one to show her.

Two, then three more seconds passed...

Then she got her answer.

With one last breath, Chat descended, replacing the cold night air between them with oh-so-soft warmth. The kiss itself was quick, more a peck than anything, but somehow it didn’t matter how brief their contact was.

Because the second his lips found hers (not clumsily per se, but eager in the way they formed to her mouth) was the second Marinette knew.

She cared for Chat.

She cared for Chat much more than her previous self would admit to.

Marinette cared for Chat in a way that extended far beyond partnership. In a way that extended far beyond friendship. She wanted him, for all that he was, and she probably had for quite some time.

She wanted his corny jokes and his nicknames for her ass. She wanted his blushing cheeks and heartfelt sighs. She wanted every flirt he’d thrown her way over the years, but this time she wanted to _listen,_  armed with the knowledge that he meant every word.

This kiss (so soft and tentative but at the same time _aching_ in the way he stroked her cheek) was the tangible proof of his feelings. The confirmation of something she should have noticed long ago.

Chat loved her. Chat really truly _sincerely_ loved her.

...And Marinette was swiftly coming to the realization she just might love him back.

(But that was a conversation for another night.)

She broke their kiss far before she wanted to, afraid that if she lingered any longer she might never want to stop. Leaning back, her lips tingled as the sudden night air hit their slick surface, her stomach flipping at the way Chat briefly chased her retreating mouth, whimpering as if she were taking something _precious_  away from him.

They hovered so close that their lips lightly brushed every time one of them took a deep inhalation, twin breaths hitching and stuttering and mixing with one another.

(How was it possible they each stole the air from the other’s lungs? Shouldn’t at least one of them be able to breathe?)

“Thanks,” she said, voice thin yet _surprisingly_  flirty for someone struggling to recall their own name.

She knew it started with an L, or… perhaps an M? Marguerite, maybe? Marisol?

Marin—

Chat swallowed, and whatever-her-name-was lost track of that train of thought.

“F-for what?” he asked, and oh _god_  the deep, kiss-roughened timbre of his voice paired with that underlying quiver was just the most distracting thing.

What was she thanking him for again? Letting her kiss him? Being so much more than she deserved?

(Her lipstick sat smeared across his mouth, looking far too erotic to have come from such a chaste kiss.

She needed to go.)

“Thanks for the dance,” Marinette replied at last, judging it to be the easiest answer she could give him right now.

After the night they’d had, suffice it to say she and Chat had a lot to talk about. All of which she fully intended to discuss with him, but none of which she wanted to even _begin_  conferring about with sore feet and a group of drunk girls waiting for—

“Shit!” Marinette cursed, digging her phone out from her pocket and wincing at the dozens of missed calls. “My friends— I didn’t—”

Chat’s eyes went from pleasure-glazed to confused to panicked in an instant, echoing her curse as he produced his own phone.

“Listen,” Marinette said, dancing on the balls of her feet as she glanced anxiously towards the lit-up night club, “I hate to just kiss and dash but—“

“No, go,” Chat interjected, his face awash in the glow of his screen. “I didn’t check in with my friend either and…”

He glanced up, smiling crookedly.

“Is it just me, or does this happen to you a lot too?”

Marinette relaxed a fraction, huffing out a short laugh. “All the time.”

The pair exchanged knowing smiles, eyes lingering on each other’s mouths. Chat's tongue darted along his lips. Marinette's teeth nibbled down on hers.

She really, _really_ needed to leave.

And she _was_ going to leave, she really was! Marinette was about to be a responsible D.D., turn on her heel, and return to her group of friends, but it was just so hard to do when Chat kept looking at her like... like she was _everything._

It was so hard to leave when the moon kept shining down, club music kept saturating the night, and the Eiffel tower kept glimmering on horizon, reminding Marinette that no matter how long she lived in Paris she would never grow immune to the city's trademark romantic aura.

It was so hard to flee when she could still feel the warm imprint of Chat's hand against her cheek, still taste the slightly sweet (' _ginger ale?_ ') flavor of his lips.

And it was downright impossible to move when he (her partner, her best friend, her maybe-love) slipped his phone back into his pocket, gliding forward with an expression so impossibly hopeful and raw that Marinette knew she'd agree to whatever came out of his mouth next even if it were straight-up murder.

"I'd like to kiss you back," Chat said, whispering like it was a long-kept secret. Like it was some desperate, snowball's-chance-in-hell desire that she'd never indulge.

Like Marinette wasn't already twining her arms around the back of his neck, meeting his lips the second they stopped moving.

If their last kiss had been a peck, then this one could be classified as the opposite, because with her hands tangling in his hair and his hands tugging her waist-first against his body, there was nothing "chaste" about it.

There was no fluttering curiosity in the way Marinette licked past Chat's lips, no question of what she felt that needed to be answered. There was no fumbling unpreparedness to Chat's exploration of her mouth, nor hint of hesitation when he answered her goading hip thrust with a body roll of his own.

This was, quite simply, an encore. A continuation of the dance they'd been weaving together _not just tonight_ but for God knows how long.

And it was every bit _hot_ as it was overdue.

Marinette plastered her breasts against the hard plane of Chat's chest, attempting to get as close as humanly possible to the man she was pretty sure had snuck his way into her heart, and it eventually reached the point where she was practically _climbing him_ in her quest for contact. Balancing on tiptoes, she hitched one leg around his hip, Chat fortunately caught the hint before she resorted to full-on scaling.

He reached down to cup her ass, hoisting her up so she straddled his hips, and Marinette showed her appreciation by softy scraping her teeth along his bottom lip. Chat rumbled against her mouth when their centers met, sending the most wonderful vibrations skittering across their lips, and when he bucked, just slightly, Marinette got a better feel of the... *ahem*... _excitement_ she'd first felt brushing against her backside when they'd found each other on the dancefloor.

(Nothing indecent, mind you. Just enough to let her know her actions weren't going unappreciated.)

Strong arms wrapped around her back, equally strong legs wound around his waist... turns out superhero athleticism led to some downright _explosive_ kissing. Through their combined strength, the two heroes had no problem sustaining their very physical position, even as Chat latched back onto his Lady's throat with the same nipping kisses she'd quickly grown addicted to.

"Okay?" he asked belatedly, releasing her skin just long enough to catch her nod.

"Yeeeees," Marinette hissed, head tilting back in ecstasy as Chat wasted no time in returning his attentions to her neck.

When he'd said he wanted to "kiss her back", he had _not_ been lying.

Now that his initial surprise was over, Chat was relentlessness in the way he kissed her, hot and wet and oh-so-eager. He used his whole body, from his tongue and his teeth to his hands and his hips, to keep Marinette suspended in a haze of pleasure till she could hardly remember why they'd never done this before. She felt more than heard him whisper into her collarbone, lips dragging like a match against her goosebump-ridden skin, but it was impossible to make out exactly what he said over the muted music and her own soft pants.

She distinctly heard the word "perfect", then perhaps the phrase "my lady", but it was right around the time Chat pressed her into the adjacent wall, murmuring something that sounded a whole hell of a lot like "love" that she gave in to sensation competently.

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette surfaced from her fog after what could have been any number of minutes, dialing down their intensity until she found her ability to speak

"My friends..." she murmured, a Herculean feat considering Chat was still peppering kisses along her jaw. "They're drunk... I'm..."

"Beautiful?" he supplied. His voice was low.

"Beautiful and sober," Marinette corrected, lips tugging up at the corners from his compliment. With only the utmost reluctance, she dismounted his hips, wobbling just the slightest bit as she stood.

(Marinette told herself it was because of her shoes.

Marinette was also a compulsive fibber.)

"Thanks," Chat said breathlessly, echoing her earlier words as his palm lingered against her waist. His other hand came up to tuck a loose stand of hair behind her ear, his touch endlessly tender despite his earlier fervor.

"For what?" Marinette asked, dumbstruck by the sheer versatility of Chat's affections. She'd never met someone who could so easily go from bodice-ripping passion to (dare she say?) romantic sweetness. The change was practically instantaneous, leaving her reeling in the best of ways.

Chat licked his lips (red from overuse and the traces of her lipstick), and Marinette was beginning to think her kitten was now intentionally trying to test her resolve.

"Thanks for the dance."

He didn't say which dance.

(He didn't have to.)

This time is was Marinette who kissed Chat's hand, causing his pupils to blow wide in surprise. "Anytime," she spoke against his knuckles, delighting in the way he flushed a pleased pink.

Chat opened his mouth as if to say more, but he seemed to think better of it, and instead simply beamed as she dropped his hand. When another chirp emitted from Marinette's pocket, followed by a ring from his, the two winced in tandem, murmuring apologies as they stepped away from one another.

"I'll... see you later?" Chat asked, with an air of forced aloofness belied by the joy in his eyes. Marinette swallowed a smile.

She knew there would likely be ramifications from tonight, discussions regarding identity and safety and “we met each other once, why not again?”, but she couldn’t find it within herself to fret over it now. Chat seemed (in this moment) content to let their chance encounter remain just that: _Chance._  A flitting occurrence in which they could tease at the boundary between hero and civilian without too much thought on what this meant for the future.

 _Their_ future.

"I'll see you later," Marinette confirmed, equal parts giddy and terrified at the possibility of there being a "them" sometime in the future.

(It was a good kind of terrifying, though. An exhilarating kind.)

The pair exchanged heartfelt goodnights, Marinette giggling as Chat (grinning from ear to ear) caught and pocketed the kiss she blew over her shoulder. Floating through the parking lot, she booked it back towards the entrance of the club, each step seeming to compound the mix of exhaustion and elation brewing in her stomach until she felt almost drunk in it.

In the span of just five short hours, she’d: Completed an entire jacket for her Construction II class, ferried a car full of drunk girls to a nightclub across the city, danced her Lucky Charm off, taken down an akuma, almost had her identity revealed-

K I S S E D  C H A T  N O I R.

(Twice.)

-and realized her friends _probably_  presumed her dead by now.

It was difficult, being tired, worried, and giddy all at the same time, but Marinette was a hell of a multi-tasker.

It didn’t take her long to find her group on the dancefloor, thanks in no small part to the mass of red curls bobbing amidst the sea of people. “Oh thank God,” Alya said upon spotting her, pulling Marinette into a smothering hug. “Where were you? I thought maybe-“

She broke off suddenly, a wicked grin splitting her face.

“What?” Marinette questioned, squirming under the appraising gaze of her best friend. _‘Oh fuck. I don’t look like I’ve been kissing someone do I?’_

“You’re wearing a different mask,” Alya sing-songed, expression endlessly smug.

Marinette Spat a curse, fingers flying up to find her cheap plastic mask had been replaced with one of much higher quality.

(Of _course_  Chat had sprung for the luxury Ladybug mask, the fuckin nerd.)

“Ha…” Marinette laughed nervously, “a-about that…”

“And are those hickies I spy? Why Marinette, I’m not going to find a very happy Chat Noir walking around am I?” Alya continued, her earlier worry (as well as her momentary sobriety) all but forgotten. She wiggled her eyebrows, and Marinette sighed in defeat, knowing a drunk Alya was still a startlingly perceptive Alya.

“If you do,” she muttered, “tell him I want my ears back.”

Her group broke out into a chorus of catcalls and wolf-whistles, which Marinette took with a good natured bow, but luckily everyone was either too tired or too tipsy to really dig for dirt, so she managed to dodge the second degree. Deciding they’d had their fill of fun for then night, the gaggle of girls migrated to the club entrance, hanging off one another as they recounted their dancefloor conquests. They stumbled and giggled, gay as could be, and had made it about halfway to the car before-

“Alya?”

Alya turned, narrowing her eyes behind her mask to identify the shadow approaching their group. Marinette turned as well, one hand gripping the pepper spray affixed to the car keys while the other balled into a fist.

God help whatever wasted frat boy or skeevy mugger that dared corner Ladybug’s girls. He’d live (barely) to regret it.

The figure stepped into the light of a streetlamp, illuminating his features for the first time. With dark hair, rimmed glasses, and no coat despite the chilly weather, it took only a moment for Marinette to place him in her mind, and instead of throwing a punch, she grinned.

“Oh my god no way!” Alya squealed, sprinting as much as one could in heels to tackle Nino in a bear hug. Despite the fact they’d broken up years ago (amicably and mutually) she reared back to plant a sloppy kiss to his check, to which Nino responded by planting one right back.

They always had been an obnoxious pair.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out tonight?!” Alya exclaimed, jabbing her ex in the ribs.

“Well, they don’t exactly let me bring an entourage up into the sound booth.” Nino doubled over as Alya full-on elbowed him, his gasp morphing into a laugh as she sputtered.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dj-ing tonight?!” Alya more or less screamed, the alcohol in her system apparently robbing her of her volume control. “We could have been hyping you up!”

“Or schmoozing discount drinks,” Marinette cut in. She butted between the two with a fond roll of her eyes, sweetly tapping her own cheek until Nino (and Alya, the slut) dove down with a kiss. Giggling, she took her double dose of affection with joy, snuggling beneath Nino’s arm as he wrapped the two girls up in a friendly embrace.

“Im _sorry,”_  he stressed, pulling them in tight to erase their fake frowns. “Had I known the two most lovely ladies in Paris would be attending tonight, I would have given a shout-out. But alas, I did not.” Alya grumbled her displeasure, nuzzling into his side, while Marinette took the opportunity to introduce Nino to the rest of their group.

“Well I’d introduce you to my date for the evening, but guess who ended up disappearing during the akuma attack.” Two female heads whipped around, smacking Nino in the face with a mass of red and black hair.

“No. Way.” Alya spoke first, her eyes dancing with glee. “There is no _way_  you snuck the incredible twink out from under his father. I reject this reality.”

“Believe it,” Nino said, idly spitting out an errant stand of hair that had made its way into his mouth. “Adrien is a big boy now, with his own place and everything.  It didn’t take much to get him here.”

“W-where…”

Marinette cleared her throat, hating herself for letting the mere mention of her forgotten (somewhat) middle school crush get to her. “Where is he now?”

Nino sighed. “He told me his cell phone died during the evacuation, so he walked to the nearest gas station to buy a new charger.”

“Rich kids,” Alya said drolly. “With their money and whatnot.”

"Right?"

“Well is he okay now?” Marinette pestered, telling herself she was _not_  obsessing and rather being a good DD to all. “Was he drunk? Does he need someone to-“

“Whoa there,” Nino soothed, flashing her his phone screen with it’s blinking 1:58 am. “Adrien said he’d meet me right here at two. I think we can hold off on the search party.” Marinette exhaled in relief, pinching Alya when she started slur-singing the “Adrien and Marinette sitting in a tree” song.

She was not in middle school. She was not k-i-s-s-i-n-g anyone.

 _‘At least I’m not right now…_ ’ Marinette thought slyly, glancing to the corner of the parking lot she and Chat had inhabited maybe fifteen minutes ago.

“You know it’s funny,” Nino began, his arms still thrown around the girl’s neck as they sapped his seemingly endless body heat.

(He’d been notoriously hot-blooded in high school, forgoing a coat on even the coldest of days.)

“What’s funny?” Alya asked, slipping one hand down into his back pocket. Nino’s eyes widened, then narrowed in mock affront, his own hand reaching back to stop her unabashed groping with a tut.

“Naughty.”

“You know you like it.”

“Ew,” Marinette offered, though she grinned at their banter. “Alya, behave. Nino, tell me what’s funny.”

“Well actually, it’s less funny and more a coincid- _ekk!_ ” Nino squeaked as Alya pressed her tongue to his ear, thanking Marinette as she batted her mischievous bestie away.

“As I was saying,” he began again, giving his ex-girlfriend a playful glower, “it’s such a coincidence that you dressed like Ladybug -great costume by the way -because Adrien’s _also_  dressed like her tonight.

“What a shock,” Alya snorted. “The boy with the Ladybug fetish owns a Ladybug mask.”

“Don’t kinkshame him!” Marinette admonished, secretly pleased to hear Adrien’s love for her alter ego hadn’t waned in the years since middle school. “He’s an innocent boy!”

“Yeah?” Alya said, wiggling her brows. “Well his Ladybug body pillow was far from innocent…”

The trio broke out in stuttering laughter, snorting and shoving one another until-

“Seriously? I’ve told you guys a million times, the correct term is dakimakura, and it was purely for decoration!”

“There he is!” Alya exclaimed, forcefully twisting her friends around as she swiveled towards the sound of Adrien’s voice. “I was just telling Mari here that…”

Alya trailed off, drunkenly trying to process what she was seeing. She squinted at Adrien's face, as if all the pieces to some grand puzzle were laid out before her, and it was only a second more before realization dawned _hard._

“Holy shit,” Alya gasped, face breaking out into a wicked, _victorious_  smile. “Holy fucking shit.”

 _“Holy shit is right,’_  Marinette’s brain echoed, before all coherent thought was instead replaced by an overlapping cacophony of Windows xp error sounds.

It was only the hands wrapped around her shoulders that kept her from dropping to the pavement.

“What?” Adrien questioned, looking as handsome and puzzled and _familiar_  as ever. His brows perked beneath his borrowed black mask, soft breeze further mussing the blonde hair adorned with two felted cat ears. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Marinette (who at this point was less a human and more a formless conglomeration of shock and awe) watched his eyes travel as if in slow motion, sliding from Alya to Nino and then finally landing on her.

Or, more specifically, landing on the spots he’d left stamped across her neck.

Chat Noir choked, Ladybug buried her face in her hands, and their biggest fan simply _beamed._

“Hey Adrien!” Alya crowed, oblivious to the twin disasters occurring before her very eyes, “Marinette wants her ears back!”

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe i posted this on Easter wow.  
> heres a shitty artists rendering of Mari's outfit >>> https://41.media.tumblr.com/77266161a5e21c5bac3f0b61d852a3e7/tumblr_o4pamqrOFa1u03wono1_500.png


End file.
